Friendly Foe
by E. M. Morning
Summary: You never know who you can trust in Santa Carla.     Rated T for some language, just to be safe.


"Alan, we're out of coffee."

It is nearly eight o'clock in the evening, and Alan Frog is putting the finishing touches the day's English homework. He watches his mother go through the nearly bare cupboards, searching for anything that may have gotten away from her.

"You're going to have to get some."

Alan looks up at the clock. "But it's late," he says. It is not that unusual for Mrs. Frog to request that one of her children to go out and run a late night errand. He would often make the journey with his brother, but this particular night Edgar is stuck in bed with a nasty case of the flu. If he were to go, Alan would be on his own, and being alone is something that he finds terrifying.

"It's not that late," Mrs. Frog protests. "The store should still be open. And you know how I need my coffee in the morning."

No, he didn't. Alan cannot think of a recent memory in which his mother had been up and out of bed before the noon hours, but he does not mention this. "Can't you go?" he asks.

"No! Who else is going to stay here with your brother?"

"I can."

"You can't." Mrs. Frog digs through her purse on the counter and pulls out a crumpled five dollar bill. "Here. Get milk if there is any left over. I think we're out."

"Maybe we can leave Edgar for a few minutes, and you can come with."

Mrs. Frog scowls. "How old are you now?" she asks. "Ten? Eleven?"

"Ten," Alan replies, quietly.

"Then you can walk a few fucking blocks to the god damn fucking store to get some coffee!"

Alan is about to inform her that the nearest grocery store was not a few blocks away. It was ten minutes if he was walking fast, but correcting his mother would get him nowhere. "I don't want to go by myself."

Mrs. Frog sighs. "Just don't talk to anyone or look at anyone. You aren't that stupid, right?"

Alan nods. He keeps his eyes on the table, too afraid to look at his mother.

"Here." She sets the bill next to her son's hands, and turns towards the living room. "Hurry up now! And don't forget your jacket; it's cold out!"

* * *

><p>Alan followed his mother's advice. He did not talk to one person on his way to the store, and avoided eye contact as much as possible. He did not have been told by his mother to avoid strangers. It was something Alan learned early on once he took notice to all of the posters of missing people, many of them featuring children. Growing up in Santa Carla is not easy. It is an entirely different world, one with its own rules and own peculiar ways of life. There is no such thing as too young. It is every man, woman, and child for his or her self. No matter what their age, background or disabilities may be, no rules shall be bent; no acceptations are made for the weak. People live freely, openly reaching for what they want no matter the consequences or who is hurt in the process. These are the type of people Alan has learned to watch out for, and picking them out from the rest can be difficult.<p>

No one can be trusted in Santa Carla.

Alan stands in the coffee aisle, carefully reading each label. He is not sure what type his mother wanted. She never said anything about that; just get coffee. No matter what he chooses it will be wrong, Alan figures. There is little he can do that would be considered right by his mother. His best choice was to go with the cheapest brand and hope for the best.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking coffee?"

The boy sharply turns his head, startled by the sudden noise. There is a man, who appears to be in his early thirties, now standing a few feet away. Despite the cooler weather, he is only wearing a dingy grey t-shirt that barely stretches over his large belly, and carries a case of beer under an arm. The florescent lighting of the grocery store shines down on his bald, egg shaped head. A bushy, caterpillar-like mustache rests above the man's upper lip, and appears to wiggle about when he smiles. He is rather tall, or seems to be to the child staring up at him. Alan does not reply. He turns towards the coffee and tries again to make a decision.

"You know, if you drink too much caffeine it will stunt your growth," the man says.

"I don't drink it," Alan mumbles. "It's for my mom."

"Your mom lets you out this late at night? On your own?"

Alan glances over at the man. There is something about him that has changed, something that his young mind cannot quite define. But he is sure that whatever it is, it's not good. "She's in the car." Alan grabs a random can of coffee and quickly walks away before the man has a chance to say anymore.

He did not look at the price for the coffee, so Alan would have to forget about the milk for now. He decided that would return to the store in the morning if his mother happens to notice. Alan heads for the checkout, and chooses a lane being run by a woman. To Alan, she appeared to be middle age, at least older than his mother, but it was difficult to tell with all of the caked on makeup hiding the woman's face. Her nametag reads Shirley and she has been working at the store for four years.

"This all for you, sweetie?" she asks as Alan hands her the can of coffee. He nods without saying a word. Shirley runs the tin under the machine, knowing on a wad of gum in her mouth as she does so. "Ain't you a little too young to be drinking this shit?"

"That's what I said!"

Alan's body tenses up. He slowly turns his head and looks over his shoulder. There is that man again, the one with the caterpillar on his face, standing in line right behind him. he has set a few items on the conveyer belt; the six pack, candy, a couple of frozen pizzas and a box of tissues. Alan's stomach does a flip once the man smiles at him again.

"It's for my mom," he mumbles again.

"Well aren't you a good boy, shoppin' for your momma!" Shirley exclaims as she counts out the change. "I wish my kids would do that. My kids don't do shit for me. Here you go, baby. Try to stay warm out there!"

Alan quietly thanks her, and grabs the change and plastic bag containing the coffee tin. He heads for the exit without looking at anyone else. The world feels safer outside now that he has managed to get away from the man in the grocery store. He quickly brushes off the incident as just another strange even in Santa Carla and lets his mind wander to other things. He runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth, snaking it in and out of the gaps between his teeth. Alan has yet to lose all of his baby teeth, which is something his brother takes great joy in teasing him about. It is only another reminder that how he is and always will be a step behind.

A bright light appears and beings to fill the dark space around his body. Alan continues to walk on, waiting for the car to pass on. It doesn't. He slows down his pace to look behind him. At first the lights blind him, but then the car pulls to a stop next to him, and Alan can see who it is.

The man from the grocery store.

"I thought your mom was waiting for you in the car?"

Sharply, Alan turns away and begins to walk away. His steps are quick, but not quite at a running speed. There is no reason to run yet, he tells himself. He must stay calm and not allow this man to know that he is bothering him. That is what Edgar would do in this type of situation, or so Alan guesses. His heart beats faster as the car slowly crawls beside him.

"I can give you a ride, if you want," the man says through his open window. "You shouldn't be out on your own. Santa Carla can be a dangerous place."

Alan keeps his focus on the view ahead, trying his best to fight the urge to look over. He wrings his hands in the bag handles so that the plastic is tightly wound around his fingers.

"Come on, kid! I promise I won't bite."

He fails. Alan looks over at the car and the man inside it. He is smiling again; the caterpillar wiggling above his large, dull teeth. Alan shakes his head and walks a little bit faster.

"What's your name? Just tell me where you live and I can give you a lift."

Alan bites his bottom lip. He would cry now if he knew that it wouldn't disappoint Edgar.

"I've got candy. You like candy?"

"No."

The man laughs. "What kind of kid doesn't like candy?" He waits for the boy to reply. When he doesn't, the man sighs, frustrated. "Come on," he nags again. "I'll get you there quick. I'll even let you work the radio."

"No, thank you."

Then the car stops, and Alan does too. He watches as the man opens the car door. This is the time where he is supposed to start running and screaming for help. Even though his brain is screaming orders to move, his body will not cooperate. He is stuck in place; frozen by fears. All he can do is watch as the man comes around the head of the car and charges towards him. A large, meaty hand grabs onto the boy's arm and the other wraps around his thin waist, pulling him tightly into the man's stomach.

Alan lets out a yelp. His body begins to function again. He begins to kick furiously at the man, but even with all of his strength and adrenaline it makes little impact. He throws his body back and forth in an attempt to break free from the grasp. The plastic bag with the coffee is lost in the fight and drops from his hands. Alan manages to bring the man's hand close enough to his mouth. With some struggle, he bites into the flesh as hard as he can manage.

It works. The man cries out in pain, and releases the boy. Alan falls onto the sidewalk, but quickly regains his composer and scrambles off of the ground. He stumbles forward as he tries to regain his composure. He has no other option; he has to run now. That man will not be too far behind him.

Alan glances over his shoulder. Yes, he was right; the man is still after him, and looks angrier and more determined than before. He will have to run faster if he wants to escape. Just as Alan is about to look away, he bumps into something. He is about to fall down again, but someone manages to catch him.

"What'cha running from, kiddo?"

Alan looks at the black leather arm that is holding him up. He follows it, leading him to the face of a young man with wild, long blond hair. Alan vaguely recognizes him from the boardwalk. This person is part of a small gang, who were often seen riding motorcycles throughout Santa Carla. They were nicer than most of the older kids; they never went out of their way to harass him or his brother. Still, for reasons unknown to him, Alan still felt a little frightened by them. However, he openly welcomes the biker's presence in this moment. Alan cannot manage to get any words to come out of his mouth, but he looks back at the man who had been chasing him, hoping it was enough to give some sort of clue to what had just occurred. The biker watches too.

The man from the grocery store slows down to a jog. He continues to head in their direction. He is almost out of breath, but still looks cheerful as he stops in front of the two, but Alan knows that there is something darker lurking inside. "Sorry about that," the man apologizes. "The little guy managed sneak away. Come on, son. It's late, and you need to go to bed."

The biker lowers himself to Alan's level. "Is this your daddy, bud?"

Alan shakes his head. No. This crazy man is definitely not his father.

The biker rises. "What are you doing running around at this time?"

"We went on an emergency grocery run. We got into a little argument and he ran off. It's no big deal; I just want to get him home now."

"I'm sure you do."

The man scowls. "Excuse me?" The tone in the man's voice has risen. Alan recognizes the anger; it is the same thing he had seen in his eyes earlier. He takes a step backwards closer to the biker. "Are you trying to imply something?"

"No," the biker says, casually. "I just find it weird that there's some fat guy chasing a little kid at night. Looks kind of sketchy to me."

"And what about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. What are you doing? A no good looking punk like you can't be up to anything good."

The biker pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. "Well," he says as he lights it up. "I'm not trying to force a kid into my car, so it can't be anything worse than you."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Look, I just want to get my son home and-."

"Bullshit. This ain't your kid. He told me so."

The man glares at Alan then. Alan grabs onto the leather sleeve in an attempt to seek shelter. "You should probably go," the biker says.

"I'm not leaving him here with you," the man huffs. "Who knows what shit you'd-."

"I'm not going to try to fuck him, unlike some people here."

Alan's eyes widen at the biker's statement. He was not quite sure what the man had been wanting from him, but now that someone has confirmed it, he is more terrified.

"I wasn't-."

"Save it, fat fuck. You should get out of here before I make your ugly face even uglier. You're lucky I don't call the police in your ass for trying to kidnap or rape or whatever shit you're trying to pull."

The man opens his mouth to say something, but then quickly closes it. He leaves without saying another word. "You shouldn't be out on your own, kid," the biker says once the man drove off. "Especially at night. It's stupid."

"Coffee."

"What?"

"I had to get coffee." Alan begins to walk in the opposite direct, back to where the car had been parked. "My mom had me get her coffee, and I dropped it." The biker follows him. The plastic bag is still lying. Alan picks it up and checks the contents inside. They are safe; everything is intact and no coffee had spilled. He looks up at the biker, who smiles at him.

"Your mom must really like coffee if she has you going out this late."

Alan shrugs.

"Why didn't she get it herself instead of sending you?"

"I don't know," Alan mumbles. His eyes dart about, taking in his surroundings. The biker has him feeling nervous again, especially now that he is smiling. People rarely smile at Alan, and when they do it is usually not for something good.

"Well, it's getting pretty late," the biker says. He drops the cigarette and grinds it into the sidewalk with toe of his boot. "I'll walk you home."

"I can get there by myself."

"Yeah? What are you going to do if that guy shows up again?"

Alan bites his lower lip. He looks down the street, checking for any signs of the car. No one was there, but there is no telling what types of monsters lurk in the darkness of Santa Carla. Alan sighs quietly to himself. "Ok, I guess."

The biker grins again. "So which way is home?" Alan points into the direction he had been running to earlier. "Alrighty, kid, lead the way!"

The two quietly begin to walk towards the Frog house. Alan, who was too nervous to speak, fidgeted with the bag in his hands. There was still quite a ways to go before he was officially safe. All he wants now is to get home and go to bed.

"You should be more careful out here," the biker says.

"I am careful."

"Looks like it."

Alan frowns. "I am," he says, defensively. "It's not my fault that he wouldn't leave me alone."

"I know. But you do have to be more careful. You can't trust a fucking soul in this shit town."

"Even you?"

"I said everyone, didn't I?" The biker laughs at Alan's troubled expression. "Well, maybe in a different situation. You can trust me now, but if you hadn't seen me before this, you better have not talked to me. Never talk to strangers. Or look at them if you can help it. Sometimes looking at someone is enough to make them do crazy shit."

Alan nods. He knows this, even if he cannot always follow the rules.

"And never ever give out personal information. Like your name. By the way, what is your name?"

"Alan."

"Kid, what did I just tell you? Never tell people your name! It's no wonder you got creepy fucks following you around with you acting so fucking naive."

"But I thought you said that I could trust you," Alan says, confused.

The biker roughly slaps a hand on top of the boy's head and messes up his hair. "Of course you can, kid! I'm Paul, just so you know."

Alan nods again, unsure of how else to respond.

"I guess this means we ain't strangers anymore," Paul says.

"Yeah."

"So, where do you live, kiddo?"

"On seventh street."

"In Pleasant Valley?"

"Yeah."

Yes, Pleasant Valley. In Santa Carla's prime it had been one of the more decent neighborhoods. It had been given its name in hopes to attract young families to help keep the population growing, and for awhile it worked. By the time the 60's rolled around, it was a different story. Pleasant Valley was not quite pleasant anymore. The name became somewhat of a joke, especially to the people living there. Pleasant quickly became notoriously known as one of the worst, if not the worst, neighborhoods of Santa Carla thanks to its abundance of drug use and violence.

"Jeeze," Paul says. "Your parents let you walk all of the way out here? Fuck, they let you out on your own in Pleasant Valley?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds like parent of the year material to me. It's a fucking wonder that you're still alive."

Alan scowls. "They're not that bad."

"If you say so, kid."

"They can't help it," Alan says, quickly. For reasons he cannot understand why, he is always desperate to defend his parents even though he knows that they probably don't deserve it. "They have some problems, but they can't help it."

"Yeah. Everyone's got problems," Paul says as he picks at his thumb nail. "Don't you get into any of that shit. Same with smoking; it's terrible for you."

"You smoke," Alan points out.

The older boy grins. "Yeah, but I can do that. I'm fucking invincible. But seriously, don't start. It will fucking destroy your body."

"Ok."

"Good!"

They filled the rest of the time with simple conversation. Paul asked questions about school and family. Alan was not too comfortable with either topics, but tried his best to keep answer as vaguely as possible. Paul brought up the comic book shop, which lead to conversations about comic books. He talked less then, and allowed Alan to dominate the conversation. He found the boy's enthusiasm and knowledge of all of the different superheroes to be amusing.

The spark in Alan's eye quickly died as they reached his house.

He stands still for a moment, staring at the rotting front door. There are no signs of life inside. All of the lights are off; his mother must have given up on waiting and gone to bed."Is this the place?" Paul asks.

"Yeah." For some reason Alan does not feel ready to go in. He was enjoying the older boy's company, and as soon as he steps into that house, he will be alone again. Alan turns to face Paul. "Um, thanks. For walking me back, I mean."

"No problem, kiddo! You should probably get to bed; it's getting late," Paul says. "I'm pretty hungry, though. I think I'm going to get something to eat. See you around, kid!"

"Bye."

Paul flashes the boy another toothy grin and waves before walking off into the night. Alan remains standing outside for a moment longer. He looks at the plastic bag in his hand, and then back at the door. With a heavy sigh, Alan opens the door and steps inside. He is home now, safe as he can ever be in Santa Carla.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I have half an hour between my final class of the day and cheer practice. That is where I started to write this, which should explain why it's not the best. It was just another one of those ideas that I had to write to get out of my head. I know that some of the scenes are a bit similar to my old story The Hunter; please forgive me for that. It wasn't intentional. Hehe. <strong>

**Thank you for reading and possibly reviewing! Again, I apologize for my lack of writing skills. I am still trying to sharpen them up again.**


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